


Nothing Has To Happen

by jimhoppersbeard



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: A little bit of fluff, Chilton is an ass, Chilton is the trash king, F/M, Frederick is sad, Light Angst, Lots of kissing, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-27
Updated: 2015-11-16
Packaged: 2018-02-22 21:02:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 12,384
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2521715
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jimhoppersbeard/pseuds/jimhoppersbeard
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's your third date with Frederick and you're dying to to get him into bed. And you do... just not in the way you would have ever expected.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Third Date

**Author's Note:**

  * For [roguekylo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/roguekylo/gifts).



> I fully intended for this to be a short simple fic but when I got talking to allwillendindoom and decided to write this for her, I got a little carried away and loved exploring this side of Frederick so much that I need to write at least one more chapter...

His arm wrapped around you on the sofa, you were trailing kisses along Frederick Chilton’s jaw. He finally invited you back to his place after your third dinner out together. He had been pretty cagey about carrying on your previous dates, and he had you wondering if he was actually interested at all or if he was just wasting time with you.

Tonight though, there was a shift in his behaviour. He had made a huge effort to impress you on the other dates of course, but tonight it was like he knew what you were thinking.

Sitting in his car outside the fancy restaurant you had dined at, he turned to you with an expression like a deer in the headlights to ask if you would like to continue on to his for drinks. You accepted without hesitation; you hadn’t even kissed him properly yet and you really, really wanted to. Plus you wanted to get to know him a little better... _Perhaps he would be more relaxed at his house and I can do just that_ you thought.

He didn’t look at you again for the rest of the drive. You looked at him, though - his soft hair set perfectly, his beautiful profile, big eyes glinting in the reflections of the street lamps. He looked distracted though, and you didn’t feel you knew him well enough to push it. He had invited you back so you reasoned that it couldn’t be anything major.

When you arrived and went inside, your arm wrapped into his, you were impressed by his taste in decor; you noticed him smile as you looked around with clear appreciation on your face. He directed you to the sitting room and asked you to put on some music as he fixed the drinks. Flicking through his record collection, you settled on a collection of Cole Porter piano solos. Thinking about how you had seen his piano through the entrance hall and how much you would would love to hear him play it, you began swaying gently as the music started, turning to see him watching you and holding two glasses of wine with his cane tucked under his arm. You rushed over to him and took a glass so that he could steady himself again and as he went over to the sofa, settling his drink on a side table, he watched your hips sway as you moved over to join him.

You sat close enough to kiss him but waited for the moment to come. He was staring at your lips but he looked frozen to the spot, so you gave up waiting and leaned in to him pressing your lips together. You had done this much before, in his car on your last date. He sighed so quietly you barely heard it, but it vibrated against your lips making you giggle. He wrapped an arm around you as you licked his bottom lip. He didn’t get the message, so you licked again before just opening your mouth and hovering above his. He opened his eyes - his mouth quickly followed, forcing his tongue into your mouth desperately when he realised what you were trying to do. As he settled into it you could tell he was actually a pretty good kisser, gentle and soft but with just enough pressure to make you want more. He hummed and whimpered almost constantly, his hands fumbling all over your back as he worried about what to do with them, what to do with you. You decided to give him a break and began trailing warm, wet kisses up his jaw and down his neck. He gasped practically every other kiss, clinging to you for more - his fingertips were pressing so hard into your back you had to adjust to try to get him to loosen his grip.

As you reached his collar with your kisses, you could feel his erection poking your hip and he bucked against you, writhing for more contact. _So eager_ you thought and you came back up to face him.

“Perhaps we should take this upstairs?” You prompted confidently.

There was that startled look again. “Yes, please, uh I mean… it’s this way-”

He grabbed his cane in one hand and your hand in the other, guiding you up to his bedroom in silence. As the music from downstairs faded all you could hear was his heavy and slightly shaky breathing. If you didn't know any better you would have thought he was nervous... but he couldn't be could he?

You left him at the door and climbed onto his king size bed, playfully looking back and him and smiling. “Come on then, doctor, I’m dying to know what’s under that suit.”

He took a deep breath but didn’t move. Or speak, or look at you.

“Is everything ok?”

“Yes I just… yes. Everything’s fine.” He sounded composed now at least, but not at all certain.

He walked slowly to the bed and rested his cane on the bedside table. You saw the mark on it, where he had rested his cane a hundred times before. He sat on the edge of the bed facing away from you. You crawled to him and kissed his neck, wrapping your arms around his stomach. He flinched.

“Frederick-“

“I can not do this. I am sorry, I am just not ready. I will take you home.”

Your brows furrowed as you took in what he said. What was he not ready for? You assumed he had had sex before, and you certainly hadn’t pushed him into it. “It’s ok, it’s fine, I’ll leave if you want me to - but please tell me what’s the matter? I want to help you.”

“You can’t help me!” He snapped back, his hand coming up to cover his face. “I am so sorry,” he started sobbing.

“Please - you have nothing to apologise for... I... I’ll call for a taxi.”

His sobs grew louder and you slid forward to sit by him on the edge of the bed. “I can stay if you want me to. We don’t have to do anything; I can sleep on the sofa. I just don’t want to leave you like this.”

“Well, you should. You should leave and never come back here. You deserve better - someone who- who can please you and doesn’t cry like a baby at the first sign of intimacy. I’m surprised you’ve seen me three times already.” He had stopped sobbing now but kept his eyes on the floor, his face wet with tears and his cheeks burning crimson.

That explained it - he has some sort of intimacy problem and inviting you here was obviously a very big step for him, and you had expected too much. You felt awful for even suggesting that you go up to his bed.

“You shouldn’t be the one apologising, Frederick. You’ve done nothing wrong. I’m sorry for expecting-”

“Expecting what? For me to actually be able to… to sleep with you?” He struggled to get the last part of the sentence out.

“No, no. Not that. I just- I expected too much. I thought you wanted to, and I should never have assumed that.”

“I do! I do want to. But I can not.” He was looking at you a little more now, but not in the eyes. You slipped your arm around him and lightly rubbed in circles just below his shoulder.

“That’s ok. Nothing has to happen until you’re ready.”

“I know that. But I do not know when I will be ready.”

You sat together for what felt like hours in silence after that, him resting his head on your shoulder and you comforting him until his breathing returned to a normal rhythm and his cheeks dried and stopped glowing.

“Do you want me to take you home now?” He spoke quietly into your neck.

“Only if you want me to leave. It’s all up to you. I'll do whatever you're comfortable with.”

He brought his head up and looked at you directly in the eyes for the first time since you had come up to his bedroom. “In that case, I would like you to stay. Please.” You began sliding off the bed and was about to ask where you would be sleeping when he interjected. “Stay here. I do not know if or when anything will happen between us, or even if it can now you have seen me like this, but, stay with me?”

You smiled at him and that was all he needed to feel instantly better, you could see the relief washing over him. He wasn’t ready for anything more than kissing but he wanted you to just be with him and you wanted that too. He knew that now and finally looked content, like a different person to the one who picked you up at the beginning of the night.

You stood up off the bed. “I’ll just wash up before bed then.”

He pointed you to his bathroom and when you came back out he was still sat in the same position, only he had got a cotton t shirt out for you to wear, had plumped up the pillows and folded over the duvet at the other side and lit the bedside lamp for you.

“Thank you,” you smiled as you walked around to the other side.

“I will not look, I will leave the room if you would like me to,” he said as he picked up the shirt.

“You can look all you want, I don’t mind at all.” You took off your earrings and placed them on the bedside table. He was sitting, stiff as a board, with his back to you still.

“Frederick, turn around. Nothing has to happen, but I want you to see me. It's ok.” You were hoping it might help him - if he saw you naked first he might feel better about whatever was stopping him, it might put his mind at ease a little… and give him something to go on until you did actually have sex.

You took your clothes off, not making it sexual in any way. You didn’t look at him. You simply took off your blouse, your bra, your trousers and lifted his t shirt over your head before hopping onto the bed and sliding under the duvet.

You might not have made it sexual, but he was gawping at you.

“Are you getting in, Frederick? I’d rather like to kiss you again before the night's over if you wouldn’t mind.”

He raised an eyebrow at that before finally becoming animated once more. He removed his tie and began unbuttoning his shirt, painfully slowly. When he finally removed it, and the rest of this clothes he climbed in wearing only his boxers. He covered himself up with the duvet before he turned to you.

You pecked him on the lips faintly, and keeping a good distance to make sure he didn’t feel pressured, rested a hand on his chest. He whimpered as you moved it down.

“Please- I-”

“I’m not going to do anything,” you said simply, “Just kissing, ok?”

He nodded and moved back into the kiss, which you deepened and continued to trail your hand up and down his chest, softy brushing his soft chest hair with your fingertips.

He broke the kiss abruptly. “I have a scar. On my stomach. It’s big and ugly and I do not want you to see it.” He turned away and sulked with his arms crossed. It all came out so quickly and bluntly it took you a second to gage what he had said.

“Then I don’t have to see it,” you replied simply.

He didn’t know how to respond to that. You were so simple and kind in the way so spoke to him, never jumping to conclusions or getting irritated with him. He wasn’t used to that and he liked it, he just wasn’t sure how to react to it yet.

The kissing quickly resumed, and he was getting passionate now. He couldn’t quite believe you still wanted to be here. He’d unloaded all of his issues on you without much explanation, messed you around (or so he thought), and you were still here, in his bed, completely fine with just kissing and with him seeing you naked. Everything was moving at his pace and you hadn’t made a fuss. He considered for a moment that he must be dreaming or that it must all be some sort of cruel trick, but he soon snapped out of that thought when your hand met the top of his scar.

He jumped, and you jumped in response. “I’m sorry Frederick I-”

He shook his head and held your hand in place on his scar, leaning in again to press your lips together. You could taste the salt of his tears and you pulled back to see him smiling with warm tears streaming from his closed eyes. He looked so content and relieved.

You laid down and brought him with you, resting his head on your chest and wrapping his arm around you. His tears soon stopped and he drifted to sleep so quickly, peacefully resting on you, his grip on your waist tightening the deeper into sleep he fell, like he was scared you would leave him while he wasn’t looking.

It was by far the most intense date you had ever had, but when you woke in the morning to the sun shining through the tall windows on your right, Frederick sleeping and clinging to you on your left, you felt so comfortable and happy. There was so much more to him than you had first imagined. It all just felt right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to explore what would happen if Frederick had his first date in years and it was fairly soon after he got his stomach scar, how long it would take him to become intimate and how he would struggle with that. I could have written him with someone impatient and nasty but you know how much I just want this nerd to be happy.
> 
> And comments, suggestions etc. welcome :)


	2. The Next Level

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Waking up next to Frederick after an intense and interesting first date, you take things gradually to the next level.

It was a luxurious feeling, waking up in Frederick’s bed. As the sun filters through the glass of the windows to warm your skin, you stretch out under the silky smooth sheets and relish in the plush pillows and duvet. They smell faintly of lavender, probably why you slept so well, and Frederick’s hair smells like coconut. An odd mix, but pleasantly refreshing and relaxing.

On a weekend, you usually stay in bed until late in the morning, rise feeling less than rested and go on with your day. But waking up at 8am between these lavish sheets with a good-looking guy wrapped around you, you couldn’t remember ever feeling this relaxed and pampered this early in the morning before.

Turning to look at Frederick and trying not to wake him, you see him still peacefully asleep. His head was resting on your shoulder, and as you tip it gently onto your pillow and slide down to face him, you smile at his expression. He looks so deep in sleep, yet his mouth is curled up at the edges into (almost) a smile.

His breathing is so deep and relaxed you almost fall back to sleep watching him, when just at the moment your eyes begin to flutter, so do his. He looks your over with his big green eyes and his almost-smile becomes a full smile.

His hand comes up to touch your cheek but as you open your eyes again he quickly pulls it away. You hope he remembers how last night panned out, and doesn’t feel on edge again, so you reach for his hand and bring it back up to your cheek to comfort him, holding it there as your other hand tenderly brushes over his chest beneath the covers, loving how his chest hair feels under your fingers. He hums contentedly and closes his eyes again, trying to take in every feeling - the warmth of the sun, the softness of your cheek, the ghosting of your hand gentle on his skin... he wasnts it all to sink in so that he will never forget how good it feels to wake up to someone who truly likes him and chooses to spend their time with him.

You move your face closer to his so that the tips of your noses touch, and slide your hand further down to the top of his scar. You stay there for a while, tracing figure eights with one finger as you lightly peck at his lips. His hand drops to your neck and rests there as he deepens the kiss, sliding his tongue between your lips and faintly moaning as your tongues touch, so much softer and slower than last night's panicky kiss and then passionate, desperate kiss.

Your hand moves lower, your fingers splayed across his stomach, his scar running directly from the tip of your thumb and down beneath your palm. You squeeze lightly and he lets out a short, quiet cry before going straight back into kissing you with all the gentle kind of passion he wanted to display last night but never got the chance.

Moving lower still, you reach the bottom of his scar, then top of his boxer briefs. Dipping a finger under the band to test the waters, you’re pleasantly surprised when he bucks his hips forward. Thoroughly expecting that he could pull back or swat your hand away, this was the third possible outcome and the one you were really really hoping for.

In the fifteen or so minutes between you waking up and Frederick waking up, you had considered what to do. You could leave, but you definitely didn't want to do that. You could ask him outright what he wanted to do, but that might scare him off or pressure him. Or, you could explore a little and see what he’s comfortable with. Of course, if he stopped you or gave any sign that he wasn’t feeling ready yet you would just hang out at his place for as long as it felt right and see where the day took you.

As your fingers slide back out off his boxers, he lets out a disappointed moan. He was soon stopped in his tracks though, as your palm suddenly presses against his growing erection and he quickly thrusts into it.

Neither of you were expecting this, but you were pleased he felt ready for the next step, and he was so incredibly pleased you had stayed all night and still wanted to touch him after having hours to consider his scar and his issues.

You whisper softly in his ear to make sure he knows where this is going, “I’m just going to touch you, ok, Frederick? No pressure. This is all about you.”

“Oh… oh god-“ was about all he could manage as a response as his eyes slowly shut and you slid your hand up his length.

The friction from his boxers and the warmth of another persons hand against his hard cock felt _so_ good, and it had been so long. He knew he wouldn’t last much longer.

As you reach the tip of his cock again you hook your fingers over the edge of his boxers, this time slipping them down slightly.

“Are you ok?” You check before continuing.

“Ohh, please…”

You wrapped your hand around his cock teasing the tip with your thumb and spreading precome over the head.

“Ahh, oh fuck.”

Fisting his cock slowly at first, you watch his beautifully expressive face. He's getting desperate now, thrusting forward into your hand.

Every desire he had for you was going into this, not for a moment imagining that he would find himself in this situation after last night's meltdown, but needing the release so much. He had been thinking about fucking you since the first time he laid eyes on you and this is the closest he has got. He opens his eyes to check this isn’t a dream - this is becomming a habit now. Of course if isn’t, there you are right in front of him wanting nothing more than to give him pleasure.

“Look at me, Frederick.” It is a command, but it’s a gentle one. You want to see his face when he comes.

He looks you right in the eye as you fist his cock hard and fast, rubbing over the tip every other time your hand reaches the top. His orgasm hits heavily and he grabs your arm, shouting and writhing and erratically thrusting as you keep a good rhythm with your hand. He looks beautiful, face scrunched up in complete pleasure and release, mouth open, eyes rapidly changing between being closed and checking this is real. Come shoots up over his stomach and onto the bedsheets, covering your hand. He pants hard and his eyes glaze over as you reach for a tissue to clean him up.

Tossing the tissue onto the bedside table, you wrap him in your arms and draw him into an embrace, kissing him on the forehead and breathing deeply until his breathing matches yours.

You both wake up again about an hour later, your legs tangled together and Frederick’s face pressed firmly into your chest. You pull back to make sure he can breathe and he wakes up.

“Morning,” you say softly, loosening the hold and slipping down again to match his eye level.

“Good morning,” he beams back, stretching and letting his arm fall onto your waist.

“So, how was your night’s sleep?”

“Fantastic actually, and I had a great dream.”

“What about?”

“I dreamed that a beautiful woman stayed all night with me and then put all her effort into pleasuring me when I woke up,” he smirks.

“That’s pretty weird because I had the exact same dream with a handsome guy, and I was the beautiful woman!” You joke back, and giggle as he leans forward to pepper your neck with kisses.

“Thank you.” He whispers after a pause.

“What for?”

“For moving at my pace. I know I am awkward and frustrating and - look how far I have come in less than 24 hours, and I have you to thank for that.”

“The only thing that is frustrating me is how hot you look when I have my hand down your pants.” He looks down, slightly embarrassed but smirking. “But really, Frederick, no need to thank me. Let’s just take this one step at a time. I really like you.”

“I really, really like you too,” he looks up and smiles back, as his eyes soften. You don’t remember ever seeing him this bare and open before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm getting so attached to this fic and I'm only on the second chapter. I have so much further to go with it and some ideas of where to take it, so I hope it's still enjoyable even at this stage.
> 
> Any comments/suggestions etc. fully welcomed as always :)


	3. Fred Gives You a Treat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Frederick gets enough courage to please you and it turns out he's pretty damn good at it

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a fairly short and extremely filthy chapter. The next one will be a little less filthy and a bit more domestic :)

He looks so adorable, staring at you with his big puppy dog eyes all satisfied and at ease. Suddenly his expression changes — “May I ask you a question?”

“Sure, go ahead.” You start playing with his hair absentmindedly.

“Can I see you topless again?” He looked away from you and spoke so quickly you had to replay the question in your head.

Without hesitating or even answering him you playfully lift your - his - cotton shirt up releasing your breasts to him. Still not looking at you, he slowly lifts his gaze to your chest and carefully dives forward to tease your left nipple with his tongue, scraping his fingers up and down your side to make you shiver before rolling his thumb over the right one. You giggle in shock as he continues, sending shocks through your body to set your nerves tingling.

You gasp at the sudden sensation he’s brought upon you, and the wetness you felt between your legs when you watched him come only increases, your centre aching for his touch. His appealingly large hands (which you had noticed on a number of occasions and daydreamed about even more often) graze down your torso and settle at your hips as he leaves wet kisses around your collar bone and on your neck, pushing you onto your back and hovering over you from your left. A shiver runs down your spine as his warm soft lips trace the most sensitive spot of your neck, and you whisper his name as your breath hitches in your chest.

“What do you want?” He asks is so simply but with clear undertones of desire that make you shiver all the more.

“Whatever you’re comfortable with giving me,” you manage to reply between whimpers.

He wastes no time in giving you exactly what you _do_ want, and slips his hand into the front of the panties you’d kept on under his t shirt. You hear him breathe out sharply when he feels your silky wetness and he pauses slightly before dragging it up to press his now moist middle finger softly against your clit. He wasn’t expecting you to be so turned on by him, but it certainly gave him the confidence he needs to continue.

The pressure on your clit increases as he slides his wet finger around in circles, then changing to an upward flicking motion that makes you grip the bedsheets and moan obscenely loudly.

He’s been watching your face this whole time, mesmerised with what he’s doing to you and how you’re responding. Your eyes flutter open to meet his as his finger goes back to the circular movement but in the other direction, and frustratingly, slower. He realises he’s staring and snaps out of it, leaning back down to your breasts and taking a nipple in his mouth again, rolling between his teeth and flicking his tongue over the sensitive nub.

Just as you feel yourself tensing in anticipation of an orgasm, he slides his finger down and away from your clit, pushing it inside you gently. God how you’ve wanted this, his hands on you — anywhere really — but this is perfect. They are so big and warm, and his finger is thick inside you sliding back and forth slowly, hitting all the right angles to make your eyes flutter shut. Each time he pushes in, his palm brushes your clit and you gasp as it sends tremors through your body to meet in the middle with the quivering nerves shooting down from the sensation of his rough tongue on your nipple.

He pulls his head away and removes his hand to slip your panties off. He settles between your legs, resuming his finger’s position but this time teasing your clit with his tongue, sliding it left to right, up and down, between your folds, sucking on your sensitive bud, only increasing in speed and never stopping.

You can hear him moaning softly as he tastes you. Every time you whimper or moan or tense, he moans into you, sending vibrations over your clit and starting the cycle all over again. He is thoroughly enjoying doing this to you and he’s giving it 100% effort.

As your breathing becomes erratic and your grip on the bedsheets tightens, he relentlessly licks and sucks at you like a starving man until he has you melting beneath him, your head thrashing from side to side, the sheets creasing in your grip and you hold on for dear life when your orgasm hits. You clench around his finger still inside you, allowing the waves of pleasure to course through you, riding out your intense climax.

When you finally come back down from it all, breathing slightly less erratic, you open your eyes to see him beside you, watching you.

“You are so wonderful,” he says, scanning your face. You’re only able to stare at the ceiling for a minute until you regain some strength.  
  
“That really was fantastic, Freddy.” You pounce on him, using up any of the energy that had returned to you to do so, kissing him playfully and ardently.  
  
“I’m going to shower and then how about we get some breakfast?"  
  
“Sounds perfect.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope this is still enjoyable and that you want to read more as much as I want to write more...


	4. Confirming Affections

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You spend the day at Frederick's and he struggles with how to go about confirming your affections for him.

It was almost lunch time by the time you actually got downstairs — after your respective showers you ended up taking a tour of Frederick’s dressing room and then convincing him that you could style his hair as well as he could… it turns out you were wrong about that but it was great fun to try. 

You threw together a late breakfast with what you could find in Frederick’s kitchen, eventually consisting of oats with mixed berries, then went to lounge around outside in the sun for a couple of hours. Just talking about books and films and childhood stories — nothing too deep, but he kept your interest nonetheless and you laughed together so often that you barely stopped smiling. You eventually check your phone for the time and realise that the hour or two you had been chatting had actually been four hours. Albeit four wonderfully spent hours that passed so quickly. You break the news to him that you have a dinner date planned with a friend, as and much as you wanted to continue talking and sharing with him, you had to leave eventually and you currently had an hour to get home, pick an outfit, get ready, and get to the bar where your friend would be waiting for pre-dinner drinks.

Gathering up your things in his bedroom from the night before, and calling a cab to take you home (he offered to drive you but you insisted that after having you as a guest at his house all day it was unnecessary) you say your goodbyes at the door.

“Have fun with your friend,” he said honestly, perhaps slightly jealous that he wasn’t the one sharing drinks and dinner with you again. He has come to feel so attached in such a short space of time and he feels like he doesn’t actually want you to leave.

“Thank you, Frederick, I will. I can’t wait to tell her all about you! Bye.” You say this all cheerily, and plant a firm kiss on his lips before stepping back to look at him, smiling. “Thank you for a wonderful time!”

As you hurry down the steps to your waiting cab, he can’t seem to find the words to reply to you. His head is swimming with the details of the last 24 hours. He watches you, hips swaying, the gentle breeze blowing through your hair as you turn back to give him a little wave and blow a kiss. He blows one back before realising that you currently have no plans to see him again. Ever. You had organised nothing and he had said nothing. He curses himself for being so stupid. All the hours you had just spent talking and he didn’t think to ask you if you wanted to see him again — and worse — you didn’t say you wanted to see him again. The cab drives away from his long driveway and he stays in his doorway staring at where it had been, wishing he could rewind time to check for any hints that you were actually interested in him. Because after all, wouldn’t you say if you were? Even though you stayed the afternoon, you had nothing better planned, maybe you felt sorry for him, pitied him even. He stopped himself from thinking before he sent himself mad, took a deep breath and closed the door.

His phone was in his hand having picked it up from his bedside table when you were collecting your things, and he looks at it longingly. Hoping beyond hope that you might contact him. He walks into the sitting room and flops down onto the sofa. He looks at the jeans he is wearing and remembers how you told him that you thought he looked great in them. Was that enough to go on you actually truly liking him? No. That’s silly.

He’s doing it again, overthinking, and he knows he is. He places his phone down on the pouf footrest in front of where he is sitting, and watches it for a few minutes, analysing whether you are the type to play games, or whether he would come on too strong if he contacted you so soon after you left. He decides To hell with it and reaches for his phone, finally deciding that if a text to say he had a great time too was too much for you then you weren’t right for him. He felt like that was a slightly harsh analysis, but it made him feel better for a few seconds.

As he reached forward, the phone buzzed and lit up. Probably a junk email he thinks as he lifts it only to see your name in bold with ‘Message’ written underneath.

Oh God. This is it. — he convinces himself you’re breaking up with him and felt too guilty to do it in person. You probably didn’t even have a dinner date but it was the only way you could get out of staying any longer. He slides the message open and reads:

‘I really did have a fantastic time you know. Sorry I had to rush off. x’

What does that mean? It neither confirms nor denies any of his concerns regarding whether he will get to see you again or whether you truly like him. He thinks for a minute and finally replies:

‘Good, me too. No problem. x’

It’s blunt but truthful and doesn’t come across as clingy at all. Right? Maybe it was too harsh. He thinks about how little experience he has had in this area and how he is probably doing this all wrong, obsessing over the wrong things and-

Another buzz. A reply from you:

‘I can’t wait to see you again… x’

Suddenly everything that was good (and to be honest pretty much all of it was amazing for him) about last night and today became clear again as the fog of his worries lifts and he finally understands how this works. He feels so stupid and childish for getting so upset for no good reason. Of course you wanted to see him again — it makes no sense to spend almost a full 24 hours with someone, compliment them, lavish them with affections only to suddenly decide you never wanted to see them again in your entire life, and especially after a positive kiss goodbye and turning back to blow kisses. Part of him just felt like it was all too good to be true. Turns out he was wrong about that.

‘I cannot wait to see you either. How about I cook for you next time? x’

‘Sounds amazing. I’m free on Monday night if that’s good for you? x’

Of course Monday night was good for him. Every night was good for him. There were never any plans on the horizon outside of working late which, in all honesty, 90% of the time was due to him having nothing better to do in the first place. He had even fallen asleep at work and woken up in the morning to the sound of the vacuum cleaner in his office on more than one occasion.

‘Monday it is, 7pm. I look forward to it. x’

‘See you then! x’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As you can probably tell, this is going to continue. I have a few plans for what is to come in what I hope to be a rather long fic. Most of you know that all I really want is for this sad psychiatrist to find happiness but of course, there will always be a few bumps in the road...
> 
> Comments, as always, thoroughly welcomed :)


	5. Frederick begins to find his old self again (without really realising)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Frederick is once again alone with his thoughts, but there have been some developments since the last set of anxiety riddled problems only few hours before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a fairly short chapter focussing once again on Frederick, but don't worry - dinner will be next ;)

In the time that passed between the last time he saw you on Saturday, and Monday evening, Frederick was left alone with his thoughts.

Saturday evening passed rather nicely, with the promise of another date coming up soon and plenty to plan before the event. He decided to try making a risotto, of all things, and spent an hour looking up vegan recipes on the internet to try and find an easy one that he thought he could manage. Being someone who lives on restaurant food, home delivered restaurant food, occasional take aways, and ready made meals that will cook easily, he accepted that if the meal he made tasted ok that would be good enough. As long as it wasn’t awful enough for her to leave, he knew he had tried his best.

Next was a trip to the wine cellar to pick out something that would surely match the flavours in the risotto recipe he picked. He settled on a bottle of Galician white Albarino that should do the trick, and set it aside to chill on it’s own so he wouldn’t have to find it again.

Sleep that night was easy to begin with, he had started to drift off and let his mind relax into replaying the days events.

The more time that passed since the incident, the better he felt his sleep habits were getting. The occasional nightmare still occurred if he had a bad day, or if thought about it for too long though - he would never get rid of the thoughts. He was reminded every time he took a shower, got dressed, got undressed, and when he was with-

That was it. sleep was suddenly ruined as the shards of dreams that were beginning to knit together now came crashing back down around him and he realised how pathetic he had truly been.

It doesn’t matter whether or not you want to see him again, the plain fact of the matter is that actually he had made a fool of himself. Replaying the days events of pleasant chatting and sharing gentle kisses turned into replaying last night, and this morning.

He had cried. For no other reason than because he feels self conscious and then again because you touched his scar. Self conscious was not a Frederick Chilton thing. That’s not how he saw himself and not how he wanted others to see him, especially the person he was supposed to be dating and sleeping with. He winced at his sheer stupidity to let anyone see him like that, and sat up abruptly.

What else. Ah yes… had he really _thanked_ you? Worshipped you? Just for giving him a _hand job_? Really, Frederick, what are you, a desperate teenager? He cringed in embarrassment, remembering that yes, he has had sex before, and he has actually been very good at it. It may have been a while (a very, very long while due to trying to avoid this exact situation) but that doesn’t make it any less true. And here he is feeling like a pathetic teenager lusting after someone who probably pities him for that exact fact.

At least he gave you something in return. That’s the thought that calms him slightly and allows him to think clearly again. At least he didn’t embarrass himself further by not even being able to pleasure you. He certainly showed you how great he is in that department.

At that thought, a smirk crosses his face and he remembers how fantastic he actually is, despite what happened last night.

He can not have you thinking of him like this again, though. That simply cannot happen. You will forever remember your first sexual encounter with him as him being pathetic, needy, desperate, and thankful. _Thankful_. He cringed again, and decided that the only thing for it is to change his game when you are here on Monday. Play it cool until then, and then prove to you that he is not some pathetic loser who is incapable of having actual sex.

Sex has to happen on Monday night. That much, he’s made his mind up about, assuming you actually come to dinner and still want him after this pitiful display he had presented you with. He would have to make it obvious that he is ready and then charm you and give you everything he should have given you last night.

He’s good at being charming, although he doesn’t always understand why it is sometimes off-putting. He tried it once with both Will Graham and Alana Bloom in his office and neither of them seemed to appreciate his skills.

His thought process soon then turned to Abel who had technically caused this whole problem, so he thought. He felt bitter and angry and irritated. If none of that had happened, he would not be in this mess now.

He failed to recognise however, that the incident had softened him somewhat on his return to work, which had resulted in you agreeing to date him in the first place. But he was soon turning back into his old pompous, self righteous self, if only he could see it that way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really want to focus on my interpretation of Frederick Chilton's character in this fic. I don't intend for him to be needy and sad and anxious, like he was in the first few chapters all the way through. I'm interested in exploring all the sides of his personality that someone this close to him would truly see.
> 
> As always, comments welcome and appreciated :)


	6. The Fourth Date

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Frederick has a plan to make you see him in a different way after your last encounter, and after he spent two nights obsessing over it alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! I return with a new chapter after millions of years. Frederick is a little awful in this chapter because as I have noted before, I really want to explore some of his personality traits and how they would come across if he was in a relationship. I think it is sometimes easy to forget that he is an ass (and has his own problems), because we love him so much we accept it. So I hope this comes across as intended and we can laugh at/understand/sympathise with/raise an eyebrow at his behaviour together :)
> 
> I would like to give a shoutout to [chiltonsfacehole](http://www.%20chiltonsfacehole.tumblr.com) for the little exchange about Rothko. Our discussions about this idiot truly inspire me <3

Frederick opened the door and there you were, stunning and wearing a beautiful yet casual blue dress, pinching in at the waist and highlighting your figure. He blinked a few times and held in a gasp that he didn't want you to hear, but you could see how his expression changed when his eyes moved over you, from your face all the way to your flat shoes and back up again. It was almost as if he had forgotten how to greet guests, but as your eyebrow slowly raised he snapped out of it an invited you in.

His sleeves were rolled up and he looked a little stressed so you didn't ask him what was wrong. You could see from the food on his shirt he was having a hard time in the kitchen, but you decided to see if he said anything before asking if you could help. You knew he liked praise and could be a little sensitive, and you couldn't convincingly give him praise if you had come in to save the day - you wanted him to know you thought him capable.

Despite his slight exasperation, Frederick confidently kissed you on the cheek, telling - no, instructing - you to wait in the dining room for him. He briskly walked back to the kitchen to sort out the disaster that the risotto was becoming, scolding himself for letting you see him in this mess.

When you reached the dining room, you had second thoughts about what you were wearing for the occasion, regardless of how much Frederick clearly appreciated it on you. You had never seen anything like it. Candles burned on the console table at the other side of the room, and the lights were dim. An extremely large centrepiece of red and white Chrysanthemums, and some flowers you were sure you had never seen indoors before, sprung up from the centre of the table and green leaves tapered off to the ends. The table wear was elegant; you found yourself surprised at the good taste of it in stark contrast to the ostentatious display of flowers which was far too much for a dinner for two. What was all this about anyway? You had been under the impression this was a fairly casual affair and you would probably end up lounging around after dinner, much like you did the last time you were here. Then your eyes fell to the napkins (he had spent an hour folding them to perfection and had actually done a pretty good job), folded into a shape that reminded you of a star. A lovely touch, but again so mismatched with the shape of the centrepiece and the smooth curves of the cutlery. 

You took your seat and Frederick emerged with a starter of courgette and ricotta rolls which he had presented rather well. He had put a smart royal blue jacket on over his shirt, food stains now wiped clean, and had added an overly patterned tie, complete with a shiny gold pin.

You complimented him on the dish as he poured two glasses of wine for the both of you. You noticed something off about him and brushed it off as nerves. He had obviously gone to a lot of trouble, so you decided to try and help him relax, commenting on the matching colours of your outfits.

'You should call ahead next time so that we can avoid it.'

It wasn't so much what he said, rather his  _tone_. He didn't look at you when he said it, and the lack of humour in his voice was so different to the last time you were together.

'Are you ok, Frederick? You seem a little-'

'Yes thank you. Tell me what you have been amusing yourself with since you left on Saturday?'

You told him of the evening spent with your friend, and how you had told her all about him (at which he pulled a disgruntled face, but you continued on), and how handsome he is (he smirked slightly at that but then remembered himself and went back to the stern look he was apparently sporting for tonight).

'And?'

'And what?'

'What about yesterday? Sunday. You obviously had something on.' He regretted the last part of the sentence immediately after he said it. He had said it because you hadn't messaged him all day and he had worked himself up about it until finally sending you a text at 9pm, which you only answered this morning. There wasn't anything in it, you were just busy and honestly not wanting to bombard him since you knew you would be seeing him in 24 hours anyway. He decided quickly not to try and cover up with a false explanation of what he meant because that would make him look weak and if there was one thing he is not, it is weak. However, you did pick up on his little dig at you, and it did not please you in the slightest.

'Oh... well I slept rather late after Saturday night and I was at an exhibition all afternoon, then I got an early night for work.' You tried to sound pleasant but you were growing increasingly irritated by his tone. You didn't actually see him at work today, and you were glad at this point.

'I was at an exhibition last week actually.'

Ah. Finally he sounds like he is capable of some civilised conversation.

'Yes, I went to see Rothko.'

'Oh, I love abstr-'

'He is an  _abstract expressionist_.' Patronising was an understatement. 'Who did you see?'

'Robleto.'

'Ah yes, Dario Robleto, the _conceptual artist_. Well, I would not expect  _you_ to know much about Rothko in any case.'

'Actually, I-'

Before you could even begin your sentence to explain that you did, in fact, know plenty about Rothko, he cleared the table and left the room with his head held high. He looked proud of himself but you failed to see what he had to be proud of at this moment. He was frankly being patronising, rude, and plain annoying. And so different to how he was with you on the weekend, and the other dates. Where had his gentlemanly manner and slightly nervous yet sweet disposition gone?

He brought in the risotto shortly after, which he had just about saved. You never said anything about this dish.

'I may visit the Robleto myself while it is here. I am sure it will be much discussed in my circles before long.'

 _'You could discuss it with me right now if you weren't being such an_ ass,'you thought to yourself, whilst nodding and faking a smile in his direction. You had stopped eating by now, and he noticed.

'Is there something the matter?' He asked, with an air of smugness you really didn't like on him.

'Yes actually.'

'Well then, perhaps we could leave dinner and find something far more interesting to do upstairs,' he leaned across to you as if going in for a kiss, but was abruptly stopped.

'No.'

He did not know how to respond to what he considered this sudden change in you. Why were you so upset all of a sudden? You could see the confusion on his face and decided to make it quite clear to him.

'Frederick. I spent every minute since Saturday looking forward to seeing you again. I woke up in the middle of the night on Sunday to see a message from you and it made me smile more than I have a any message I have received in a long time.'

He smirked, knowing you did receive the message well after all, and assuming this was going to go somewhere complimentary and positive after all.

'I spent all afternoon daydreaming about you. I made an effort-' you started to feel upset by now and didn't wish to get any more personal about all this. Choking back a tear you finished with '-you have been insufferable. In the hour I have been here you have made me feel unwelcome and treated me like- like you treat everyone else!'

You got up, throwing your napkin down on the table and heading for the front door. He chased after you, visibly upset. In honesty, you had not intended to go that far with your comments, even though he deserved them, and when you heard them said out loud they only made you realise that you shouldn't be there.

'Please- do not go, I-'

'You have changed. Or perhaps this was always you and I never really knew you at all. Goodbye, Frederick.'

The door slammed loudly, followed by complete silence. The silence he is so very used to, and hates. What had he done?

Returning to the dining room, the sad risotto cooling on the table, he sat down to contemplate how he could have messed up so badly with you when his plan was solid.

After an hour of thinking it through and getting nowhere, he assured himself you would call him before the evening was out to apologise. But that did not get rid of the awful feeling he had in his stomach, an empty sinking feeling that got worse each time he replayed what you said to him before you left.  _He had treated you like he treats everyone else_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope this was not too upsetting to read after the events of the last episode. But let's not think about that for now. He is healthy in this fic, and there is a long way to go so I don't think I am spoiling anything by saying he will also be happy again, at least at some point ;)
> 
> Comments/suggestions always appreciated <3


	7. Who Would Want to be Friends With You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Frederick tries to figure out what he did wrong and you try to help him see the error of his ways.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ***Trigger warning***, (also a spoiler so if you have no triggers don't read on) Frederick has a slight panic/anxiety attack in the first half of the chapter.

Frowning, sulking, and sick of the sound of nothing, he decided to put on his coat and go out. He wasn't sure where, but he needed to get out of this house for an hour or two to clear his head. What you had said to him was repeating in his ears like a bad, worn out record that he couldn't stop.

Dressed for the cool night air, he took to his car and drove away, deciding to take himself to a bar he hadn't been to for years. No one in there would know him, and he could have some peace in a neutral environment to clear his head. In honesty, he wasn't all that upset. He mainly felt confused and troubled by how badly everything had gone when he had made such an effort. The small part of him that felt upset was the part replaying your harsh remark, but he planned to quieten that with alcohol. He pulled into the car park and realised he would have to leave it there until morning, which displeased him but he had convinced himself he needed this.

At the bar, he ordered a glass of Macallan and found a table right at the back in a corner where he could sit alone. On a Monday night, the bar wasn't busy but he didn't want any disturbances.

He left his coat on as he didn't plan to stay longer than one drink, only removing his gloves and neatly placing them beside his glass the table. One drink, he thought, is all it would take to clear his head. But he had started to feel quite on edge. As he lifted the glass to his lips, his hand was shaking and his breathing was becoming erratic and shallow. He put the glass down and gripped the edges of the table to try and ground himself, feeling his heart beating heavily in his chest.

 _Not now Frederick, breathe_ , he told himself, attempting to calm himself as the room slowly stopped shrinking in on itself and he started to feel and hear enough of what was going on around him to really believe he was still in the room.

Finishing his drink, which truthfully did not actually help his current condition, he contemplated the night's events. He did not want you to be upset, or hurt, or mad with him. He didn't want to be the one that caused all this. All he wanted was to impress you - something clearly went very wrong in that process that he couldn't quite put his finger on. But mainly, he was worried about how you were actually feeling after all of this. That made his stomach twist into a knot again.

He decided that he should have just stayed at home. He looked around to make sure no one saw him panicking, but there was no one near him. There were a couple of women standing near the bar, and only two people behind it. A man sat alone in the other far corner of the room, looking sad and playing with his empty glass. Frederick wondered if a similar experience had brought him here, and that made him feel slightly better. One thing he knew for sure though, was that he had had enough of this bar and that it wasn't helping him to be here. He grabbed his gloves and slipped them on after running his fingers through his hair.

He walked out into the cold, fresh night air, standing by the entrance for a few minutes to breathe it in. Closing his eyes, he held onto his car keys tightly in one hand to keep himself grounded. He tried to order everything in his mind. How did he _treat_ people? If that is what you really thought of him why would you agree to date him in the first place? Are you ok? Where did you go when you left? Would he ever see you again? These questions swam around his head, and he looked up to find the answer to at least two of of them.

You were walking toward the entrance, laughing with someone. In a completely different outfit to what you were wearing only a little while ago.

He was standing right beneath one of the wall mounted lights beside the main doors, so you couldn't really miss him. You stopped laughing immediately as he cleared his throat and your eyes met.

'Hello.' He said weakly, standing straighter and puffing his chest out.

You feel embarrassed that you have to deal with any of this in front of your friend and your cheeks begin to glow red. 'Hi.'

'Who is this?' You friend asked, plainly, clearly hoping for an introduction followed by a juicy story from you when you were alone again. She could read you like a book and knew something was going on.

You didn't really want to answer. You hadn't told your friend about your horrible date yet. As far as she knew, Frederick was a wonderful, handsome angel who treated you like a queen, because that's how you had painted him in your descriptions on Saturday night. This became awkward very quickly, so you decided to try and avert introductions for now.

'Why don't you go get our drinks and I'll introduce you later?' You smiled at her with a look in your eyes that she knows well; the look of _trust me on this, do the thing, I'll explain later_ , which you had both given each other a considerable amount of times over the years.

She gave you a knowing look in return. 'Sure. See you inside!' She winked at Frederick before leaving you both.

As soon as the doors were closed you spoke firmly. 'What are you doing here?'

'I could very well ask you the same thing! And on a work night.' He sounded affronted that you had just appeared and wanted to know what  _he_  was doing.

'I am here, Frederick, because I was expecting our date to go well. But it didn't. So I called my friend and asked her to take me out to cheer me up.' You ignored the comment about work, hoping he would realise for himself how hypocritical it was.

It hurt him to imagine that you might have discussed your fight - if that's what you could call it - with someone else when he couldn't even figure this out himself. 'You... what have you told her? And I am here for very much the same reason that you are.' He lifted his head and tried to look superior. He actually looked rather pathetic.

'Oh. I see. So where is your friend?'

His eyes widened for a second. 'I- I do not have a friend.' He looked down and trailed off on the last couple of words.

'Of course you don't. Who would be friends with someone like you.'

Your words hung in the air between you both. It was a cold and uncaring thing to say, but really, why should you care anymore? The person you thought he was - the person he lead you to believe he was - where was he? You rarely associated with him at work, and before you ever had a proper conversation with him you had heard nothing but bad things about the way he would treat his staff. You found it all so hard to believe after your lovely dates with him and convinced yourself that they had got him all wrong, when in fact he had fooled you.

You turned to go inside, wanting him out of your sight.

Frederick was holding back tears, feeling weak and pathetic and not wanting you to see that in him.

'What did I- what did I _do_?' The last word opened the floodgates and suddenly tears of frustration and hurt rolled down his cheeks, burning with embarrassment at how sad he must look.

You turned around, fully prepared to inform him of how you should have never wasted your time on him. And then you saw his crying. A small part of you thought  _good_ , but then you remembered how sensitive he was before all this and genuinely wondered what was going on here.

That didn't soften your tone though. 'Are you kidding me? You spent all that time with me being gentle, kind, sensitive. We had fun together Frederick, and I enjoyed every minute that I spent with you. What was tonight about? You treat me with no respect. You patronised me. You- you made me feel stupid and frankly, you were an ass. Can you really not see that?'

You watched everything that you said sink into place as his face changed.

'I am sorry-'

'Good.' You began to walk away again, satisfied that he knew what he had done.

'Wait - I have not finished. I am sorry I caused you to feel that way. I do respect you! I respect you a ridiculous amount, no one has ever made me feel- made me-' He struggled to finish the sentence, and although he had stopped crying he was now woefully sniffling. He knew what he wanted to say, but he also knew that he still wanted to impress you and this wasn't the way to do it. He was losing your interest fast and he knew it. 

'Then what was this Frederick, because I don't understand what's going on here. And I need you to be quick because my friend is waiting and-'

'I really like you. I like you a ridiculous amount and I do not want to spoil what we have. I just wanted you to see that I'm not, actually,  _this_ pathetic. Please, give me one chance to make it up to you. I- I promise, I will not treat you how I treat...  _everyone else_.' It felt like a weight was lifted off his shoulders to say these words out loud for himself. He knew you were right and he realised now what he had done.

'I don't know who the real you is anymore.'

'Let me show you, please.'

You considered this for a second, and thought about how he really needed to learn the error of his ways or he would likely be alone and as sad as this for the rest of his life. There was a very small part of you that wanted to nurture the good you had already seen in him, but did you want to waste more time if he would just turn out to be awful again? You had nothing to lose, really, if you only gave him once chance. If you didn't expect anything you wouldn't be disappointed. Although, you did technically still like him - the him from two days ago - despite tonight's display which complicated that slightly but...

'Fine.'

'What? I-'

'I said fine. Make it up to me. One chance.'

'I will not let you down. You deserve better.' He meant better than him, but you took it to mean better than tonight.

'Yes, I do.'  _Thank you for realising._

Your confidence and tone shocked him slightly as he wasn't used to hearing women - or anyone really - stand up for themselves in front of him. He, on the other hand, stood in front of you like a small school boy who had been punished for his bad behaviour, looking at you with big wet eyes, and you couldn't help but feel some spark of mercy.

You leaned forward and gave him an extremely brief kiss on the cheek. 'Goodnight, Frederick.'

He smiled, a very small, comfortable smile. 'Goodnight.'

After you left him outside alone, he replayed the conversation quickly in his head and started thinking of what he could do to make up for it, and perhaps to get you to forgive him enough to come back.

The walk home was long and cold and lonely, and once he arrived, he brushed the taste of scotch off his teeth and settled into his warm bed, feeling much better for being in familiar surroundings. He couldn't shake the thought that you were in that bar recounting the evening to your friend who likely knew more about him than he cared for anyone to know. He tried not to preoccupy his thoughts with what your friend thought because really, it was you he cared about. Your opinions. Your feelings.

He decided not to message you that night as he thought you would be in desperate need of space from him for a little while (and he was right about that), so instead he switched off the bedside lamp and shuffled further under the duvet to read over all the messages you had ever sent each other. There weren't many, but the ones that were there were good reminders of the fact that you did like him, and of times when he felt much calmer, which soothed him. He fell asleep quickly, his phone still clutched in his hand, and had pleasant dreams. Meanwhile, a new message notification lit up his screen. It was a message from you that read, 'I would want to be your friend. Night Fred'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... does he really understand or is he still trying to be impressive?
> 
> I hope this chapter came across ok, it's kind of the awkward mid-point between the fight and the make up, I really just wanted it to be unclear how Frederick is actually understanding this - I feel like he would have some difficulties in (fairly) serious relationships, because it's not all about him for once!


	8. She Deserves Better

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Frederick is trying to impress again, but this time it's actually with good reason and his heart is in the right place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a fairly short chapter, but there will be plenty in the next one to make up for it ;).

Frederick woke up agonising about you agreeing that you deserve better. And over the text you sent while he was asleep, which he checked for and read instantly upon waking. It sounded friendly, and was indeed about wanting to be friends, which is something he had not been offered by someone for a long time. That made him feel very wanted and made him believe he is as likeable as he wants to be.

But, you _deserve better_.

He had meant it when he said it - he truly believed he had been nothing but a let down to you. And you had agreed.

And in the back of his mind was your friend. You friend who must know everything you know about him and, well, that is not a good thing.

He snapped out of it before he could dwell on that fact for too long as the cool water hit his warm skin in the shower. He instead began thinking about how he could possibly make any of this up to you.

Of course all of the usual plans went through his mind - flowers, chocolates, jewellery? - no, that would be too much when you hadn’t even agreed to actually being together. Yet.

Just as the water was getting warmer, he remembered he had left his car parked at a bar. His eyes closed with disdain for his decisions from last night and he quickly grabbed a towel and went back through to his bedroom to style his hair.

Sitting at the dresser, he thought about all the things he should have done, the things he should have said. All the things he _did_ do that made you feel like you didn’t know who the real him was. He would buy you flowers after all, but rather than include a standard card he would include a handwritten letter. He congratulated himself at this wonderful idea, giving himself a smirk in the mirror.

Out in the misty and cold morning air, half way to picking up his car, he had thought through a hundred things he wanted to write to you, but decided to keep it to one side of letter writing paper at the most, a paragraph if he could manage it, because it would seem incredibly needy if he went on for too long. For once he was right.

He took out his letter writing set as soon as he got to work. Before now he had only ever used it to reply to complaints - he thought if he hand wrote his responses it would seem more sincere, especially since not a scrap of sincerity actually went into them. But this time would be different. He actually cared about the words he chose for you and what he wanted to say, and he cared about how they made you feel.

_I want you to know who I am_ , he began. The words on the paper looked just as dramatic as he generally acts.

_I like you a lot. That is an important thing that I want you to know about me. Other things you should know are that I can be a blind fool at times and I tried to show you a side of me that you did not need to see. That is not who I am. I don’t even know anything about Rothko. But I would like you to teach me. I know have a lot to learn. -F_

There was more to the last couple of short sentences than he cared to admit, but he knew what it meant and hoped you would too.

He spent his entire lunch break at the florists picking out flowers for a bouquet that he wanted you to understand was intended to be like you. He described you to the florist who ended up looking as confused as Frederick had been feeling, but he ended up with a simple bouquet of blue dahlias - the closest colour to his jacket and the dress you wore last night.

It was ready within half an hour (he paid them extra to make it up immediately), he attached his letter and asked them to deliver it to your desk as soon as possible, no later than 5pm.

Back at work, he thought over what he wrote and if it was apologetic enough. After all, he didn’t actually apologise. Maybe you would message or call him when you received it. He decided to Google 'Rothko' to take his mind off it.

He left for home at 6:30pm, having heard nothing, and double checking the confirmation email he received to say the flowers had been delivered and received.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope the short length of this chapter didn't disappoint! Comments welcome as always :)


	9. Apology accepted

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm finally writing again, sorry for taking forever to get back to this, but here we are.

The knock on his door startled him from his microwaved dinner and a recorded episode of Cheaters he was distracting himself with having not heard from you since his slightly over the top apology.

He grumbled all the way to the door, the meal in its warm floppy plastic container in one hand and a fork in the other, holding it between his lips to open the lock on his door.

And there you stood. Glowing in the light from the moon and the one streetlight that could be seen over Frederick’s extensive wall in the distance.

Frederick on the other hand, although his hair was beautifully in place, was in an old T shirt and briefs, and had a blanket thrown over his shoulder which you noticed had a grain or two of rice stuck in it. Your eyes flicked away from the blanket back to his eyes and before he had the chance to speak, you removed the fork from his mouth and replaced it with your lips.

The remaining (and rather crispy) rice grains in the plastic tub spilled out onto the floor tapping the hard wood, followed by the clattering of the fork you took from him. The sound was drowned out by the feeling in the kiss, and he had to open his eyes to make sure this was actually happening.

You broke apart to find him wide eyed and open mouthed. “You’re an ass.”

He looked flustered at the contrast of your harsh words after such a soft and loving kiss.

“You’re also ridiculous.” A little kiss on the lips followed by a dumbfounded expression from Frederick. “I can’t believe we’ve only been on four dates and you’ve caused me so much hassle.”

He opened his mouth as is to speak but you just kissed him again. Each time your lips met, it became more heated. You pushed him backwards into the far wall of the entrance hall.

“I- I don’t understand? I am sorry though-” He managed to stutter out between kisses.

“For some reason, I really like you. And I want to get to know you. That doesn’t mean you’re not the most irritating and confusing person I’ve ever met.”

That was good enough for Frederick. He threw the blanket from his shoulder and pulled you to him. He tasted of cheap rice and a sauce you couldn’t place, but he smelt faintly of vanilla, his hair soft around the fingers you pushed into it, his skin smooth on the hand cupping his cheek.

Frederick sighed softly and tried very hard to keep in the many emotions he wanted to let out. He didn’t want you to pick up on it as he was feeling that already things had moved too fast for you (and mostly gone wrong). He didn’t want to freak you out after everything that had probably already freaked you out. But you were there, and that’s all that really mattered right now. That and the lovely kissing which he was enjoying very much. For now.

‘Marcus Rotkovich was a Jewish immigrant from Europe to America.’

Frederick snapped out of his kissing haze suddenly. ‘What?’

‘You wanted to learn about Rothko. I’m educating you.’

He frowned at the choice of words you used (and the timing) but it didn’t last as you dived straight back onto him and continues where you left off. For a few seconds. ‘He worked with layers, and if you observe one of his paintings up close you will see dozens more colours than appear in photo’s of the work.’

More kissing.

‘They’re so large-‘

‘What are?!’ He startled.

‘His paintings,’ you reply simply, as if the kissing had no effect on you. ‘He wanted to evoke emotion - to make people smile or cry when they see them.’

‘You’re making me want to cry,’ he huffed in response.

You felt a slight pleasure from annoying him. It somehow felt so good to hear him disgruntled as you teach him something he doesn’t know. You smirk and place your lips on his once more. Interestingly enough, you noticed that no matter how irritated he was by your interruptions, he melted again each time you continued.

‘He has a chapel in Houston, Texas where he intends you to contemplate-’

He cut you off this time. His arms were tight around you as his large warm hands feverishly explored your body over your clothes.

‘I love that you are telling me this. But I can not help but feel that this is not the time,’ he mainly breathed the words at you, carried away in the moment that you weren’t quite in with him yet.

You decided to stop then, and allowed yourself to enjoy this as much as he was.

You didn’t make it to his bedroom as the kisses between you grew more heated, and before you knew it half of your clothes were pooled on the entrance hall floor and you were on his sofa straddling him and running your hands over the T shirt he still had on. You shifted down and slipped one hand beneath the hem of his briefs, but he gripped your wrist to stop you and flipped you over, leaving little kisses down your naked torso and stopping above the lacy panties you still had on to pull them off.

The feeling of his warm tongue stroking your sensitive nub whilst his large, soft hands firmly traced every inch of your skin that he would reach was overwhelming enough before he took one of those hands to circle a finger around your entrance. He smirked at how wet you were already, but you didn’t feel that as he dipped a finger in and you were far more focussed on that. He continued with this for what felt like an hour. Frederick seemed to be particularly talented at this and you didn’t bother to hold back on letting him know. You came loudly and he didn’t stop for a second, continuing as you adjusted.

As your legs began to tense around his neck for the second time, he pulled away instantly and lifted himself over you, entering you agonisingly slowly. As you looked up and met his eyes, he sucked his fingers clean before going straight in for more kisses. You sighed in bliss as his gentle thrusts became quicker and more erratic, and he matched your loud moans until you both came. You tightening around his length, your clit which he made so sensitive grazing against him with every thrust, and digging your nails into his shoulders as he tightly closed his eyes, mouth open, and every muscle in his body convulsing in pleasure.

He moved up and laid next to you but mostly still on top of you, silent apart from his breathing which was heavy at first.

You dozed for a while, both waking up properly later in the evening. Chatting and being content in silence, him affectionately stroking your arms and getting to know your body, you giving him tender little kisses on the cheek and playing with his hair.

It felt good to just be with him, and he couldn't remember feeling this safe and content for a long time.


End file.
